Beautiful Day
by Margot
Summary: A Sirius-centric fic, following his life from his graduation to Book 6. Starring AngstRidden!Sirius in all his angst ridden glory. There is little objectionable content in the story but it is definitely not one for the kiddies.
1. Broken Promise

Beautiful Day chap. 1

**Beautiful Day**  
By [Margot][1] - [cherry@time-stranger.net][2]

**A/N:** This fic is devoted entirely to Sirius. It follows him from just before his Hogwarts graduation to the end of Book 6. This story isn't for the kids; it's got a generous share of cursing, graphic description, and... sad feelings. I'm rating this R just to be safe, although that may be a little excessive. Any romantic pairings you detect should be ignored for the greater good. Thanks to Nicole the Snape-loving beta reader!

*

**Chapter One - Broken Promise**

*

_"Nobody else here baby  
No one else here to blame  
No one to point the finger  
It's just you and me and the rain"_

--- "If God Will Send His Angels," U2

**

"No, the one to the left of that.

"Your _other_ left."

Sirius grinned as James tossed him a quick scowl, then turned his attention back to the midnight sky. It was like a thick, navy blanket, dotted everywhere with tiny glistening spots. The crescent moon lit the earth below it with a glare that contrasted violently with the darkness of the sky in which it was suspended, but it caused few shadows on the ground. The sweet, fresh scent of a late spring night filled the air and swept itself around the Hogwarts building, allowing itself to be a faint reminder of Sirius and James' present situation and feelings: calm, peaceful, enjoyable, but perhaps even too pleasant to be enjoyed for long.

Sirius pushed his stuffy black cloak off his shoulders and allowed the gentle June's breeze to swarm him. James leaned on his knees and stretched up, squinting, as if the few inches' difference somehow made the map of the night sky miles closer.

"Oh, _there_ it is," James announced, sounding relieved. He pulled back off his knees into a more comfortable seating position. "Part of Canis Major. Brightest star in the sky."

"Right. Otherwise known as yours truly."

"It's beautiful. So much better looking than you."

James flashed his typical kilowatt grin as it became Sirius' turn to scowl disdainfully. Perched atop the tallest turret Hogwarts had to offer, the two could see the entire night sky as well as the dark ground below for miles. South of them, the small village of Hogsmeade offered up dozens of clusters of small white and yellow lights, like tiny stars that had been grounded. North was the Forbidden Forest, its trees rustling silently as the breeze swept through it; now, strangely, owning up to its name more than ever in the pitch black that engulfed it. It was a magnificent view, one that Hogwarts students enjoyed on rare occasions. The fact that it was out of bounds to all students at night hadn't particularly bothered Sirius and James; a week away from graduation, what could possibly happen if they were caught? Detention?

Unlikely.

A long silence was exchanged between the two as they both watched the sky. A chance, presumably, to reflect on their last seven years, on the path that lay before them, and on each other. The silence was finally broken by James.

"This is boring."

"Yeah."

Another, much briefer silence endured. Once again, it was James who broke it. His face lit up with another wild grin.

"I've got a brilliant idea."

Sirius coughed lightly. James always had "brilliant ideas," closely resembling science experiments, such as "Let's put a Knut on the Hogsmeade station train tracks and see what happens," "Let's fly our broomsticks, only facing the tail end," "Let's see if we can't help Nearly Headless Nick get the rest of his head off," and "Let's become Animagi."

Not that Sirius didn't enjoy conducting James' many mad science experiments; he always enjoyed the delighted responses they elicited from the other Gryffindors. Always a sucker for a laugh, he'd even allowed James to conduct an experimental charm on his hair in sixth year, knowing full well that his friends would be delighted to see his once-black hair flash various shades of red, yellow, and blue throughout the day's classes. He'd gotten a full week's detention, but never regretted a moment of it.

"Well, want to hear it?" James pestered.

"Yeah."

"Okay, listen. _I'll_ ask _you_ any question _I_ want and _you_ have to answer _me_. Then _you_ can ask _me_ a question and _I_ have to answer _you_." Putting heavy emphasis on each "I," "me," and "you" he said, James sounded like a delighted four-year old explaining the rules of Tag or Hide-and-Seek. In truth, Sirius didn't doubt that that was exactly how James felt, but he snorted derisively anyway.

"That's Truth or Dare, only without the Dare part."

"Thank you for clarifying that. Come oooon," James whined, "I want to plaaaaaaay the gaaaaaame-"

"All right, all right already," Sirius laughed. "But I'm going to ask first."

"Fine." The two sat in silence for a moment, side by side, facing the Forbidden Forest. "Well? Ask!"

"All right! I'm just trying to come up with a good one. Okay... er... fine." James grinned in anticipation. "Do you... er... are you in love with Lily?"

There was a pause, and James rolled his eyes, grinning. "Oh yes, that was a _great_ question. Really got me revealing my deepest, darkest secrets."

Sirius narrowed his eyes but held back a grin of his own. "Just answer the question."

"Yes, of course!" James cried, surprised that Sirius even had to question him. "It's not exactly something I try to hide! I mean, it's impossible to miss my proclamations of undying love in the Great Hall every morning. They're pretty hard to miss, what with the other students singing them along with me and all."

"No, not the showy crap you do every morning. I mean real love, like the kind in books. That sort."

James nodded in understanding. "Oh, the cheesy kind, you mean."

"That's what I mean."

There was a hesitation, albeit much longer than the previous. Sirius sat quietly, back hunched, legs crossed, and dug faint scars into the stony ground with his fingernails while he waited for James' response. After a moment, James stretched out his legs and put his hands behind him, leaning his weight onto them and looking up into the sky.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"And she knows."

"Yeah." James smiled a little. "I don't just belt it out at the top of my lungs every morning before breakfast. I tell her in private, too. Not in song, though. Serious. Honest-like. I tell her that I love her."

Sirius didn't reply.

"Can you imagine someone like me having a steady girlfriend for two years?" James scoffed loudly. "But it's weird. Everyone says that teenagers don't fall in love, that they don't really know what love is. But they don't know what they're talking about. I think in a little while... like a few months down the line, maybe..." he drummed his fingers on the ground, obviously skirting the issue, "I'll ask her to marry me."

Sirius stared. "What- you're serious?"

James turned his head to face Sirius. All previous traces of a smile or a laugh were gone from his face. "Never been more serious in my life."

"But you're only eighteen!"

"Hey! I _said_ in a few months!"

Sirius continued to stare, openmouthed, at James. James simply stared back. The stares were intense, challenging, like one was daring the other to speak first. Then, breaking the silence, Sirius chuckled quietly. Then louder. Finally, he was laughing, laughing at the top of his lungs; laughing at the ridiculousness of his best friend, who had always been the best at his studies, the best at Quidditch, the loudest and nicest and funniest person of any of Hogwarts' students, but for all his fact-quoting and Quaffle-catching abilities, he seemed to have very little intelligence and even less sense.

Sirius finally stopped laughing but his grin remained on his face. "So you're going to get married the moment you hit nineteen?"

James looked insulted. "Maybe. If she wants."

"Probably not, she's got more sense than you."

James snorted in response. "That's true." He cocked his head at Sirius. "Why are you suddenly so interested in my love life? Want a piece of me to yourself?"

Sirius pulled a face. "I'm no puff. Who do I look like, Remus Lupin?"

"Hey," a voice suddenly came from behind them, making them jump, "I'm not a puff. Even if I was, James is hardly my type."

Sirius laughed again, craning his neck around towards the source of the voice. "Remus, what the hell are you doing here? We thought you were asleep!"

"Obviously." Remus grinned jovially, hoisting himself up the ladder and onto the turret's top to join his friends. The edges of his patched-up cloak were considerably frayed and his dusty blond hair hung raggedly around his face, leaving him to be much shabbier-looking than his two friends but no less mischievous and fun-loving. His dark brown eyes sparkled, especially noticeable against his pale skin, as he scooted over to James and Sirius like a master card-counter joining a group of amateur Blackjack players. "What are we playing?"

"Truth or Truth."

"Cool," Remus nodded knowledgeably, settling himself behind James and Sirius, "count me in."

Sirius looked him over. "You've played before?"

"No, but I know how to play. Someone asks you a question and you answer it, right? Not exactly rocket science."

"Okay, join the fun," James smiled. "Sirius, it's your turn."

"All right, let's have a go."

"Okay, er... all right, here's one: why do you live with your aunt?"

The grin from Sirius' face quickly dissolved, his face turning stoic. He turned from his two friends to look out over the Forbidden Forest, his eyes clouding over. "My mum died when I was nine, I thought you knew that," he replied quietly.

Remus shook his head, picking up on the obvious signal that this was not a topic Sirius enjoyed discussing, but James seemed to miss it and continued on. "What about your dad, though?"

There was a long and enduring silence. _Too many of these damn things tonight_, Sirius thought to himself in slight frustration. He drew his long legs up towards his chest and rested his chin on his knees, hugging them close to the rest of his body. His jet-black hair fringe hung forward in front of his eyes, hiding them from his friends. He was silent as he stared ahead, as were the other two while they waited for Sirius' answer.

"Dad's... I mean, _Father's_..." Sirius drew his head up, carrying on a sarcastic tone. "_Father's_ a Death Eater, so my aunt took me in."

Sirius could feel Remus' eyes boring into his back. "... don't joke about that sort of thing," he started cautiously. Sirius sneered in reply.

"I wouldn't."

"He's really...?"

"That's what I said," Sirius stated, putting on a nonchalant tone that the others couldn't decipher. "_Father_ joined up with You-Know-Who after mum died, that's when my aunt came and took me away from... _Father_."

It was James who spoke first. "Why didn't you tell us sooner?"

"Just not the sort of thing you tell your friends, I suppose."

"But you tell your friends everything!"

Sirius narrowed his eyes. "Well, obviously not."

James through a side glance at Remus and tapped his knuckles against the ground. His intense brown eyes glittered earnestly, as they usually did when faced with a serious situation. "Okay, I'm sorry I asked. But I thought we established, a long time ago, that all of us could tell the rest of us our secrets and not be ashamed of them. Right, _Moony_?"

Remus nodded in agreement, although clearly he was a little resented that James had used his "lycanthropic predicament," as he preferred it, to get his own ass out of trouble.

"Yeah, I know," Sirius replied, "but it just didn't seem that important."

"I'd say it's important, you prat! Your dad's a Death Eater? Jeez. Remind me to stay away from you."

"What-"

James laughed. "I was just joking, Sirius. Padfoot." He grinned stupidly again, causing Remus to snort into his hand. "Look, let's make a promise: we tell each other important secrets." He coughed gingerly for a moment and glanced away. "Er, except when it comes to our girlfriends. My girlfriend." His friends snorted. "We'll keep each other's secrets. We'll help each other out. And we'll look out for each other. All right?"

"How poignant," Remus grinned, but nodded in agreement all the same. Sirius, on the other hand, seemed reluctant. He smiled warily.

"Promises were meant to be broken, James."

"_Rules_ were meant to be broken," James smiled, "we established that a long time ago, too. Promises were meant to be kept."

Sirius looked James over. _No sense in his head, none at all_. He smiled back.

"Yeah, sounds good."

"Promise it!" James demanded.

"Okay, okay! I promise."

"Me too," Remus interjected, scooting himself closer to his friends.

"Me three," James said finally. "Too bad Peter isn't here," he added as an afterthought, but shrugged simply. "Eh, doesn't matter anyway. So, it's a promise between the three of us, then. We'll look out for each other."

"That's a promise," Sirius stated. The three friends all exchanged anxious glances, then suddenly broke out into laughter... perhaps partly to relieve the tension between them, but mostly because of their complete inability to take each other seriously. Their laughter rang out, spilling over the turret and over the trees of the Forbidden Forest. It was surprising, looking back, that the sound of their laughter woke no one. But they couldn't help themselves; despite the utter seriousness of their conversation, its true impact, the ripples it had left behind, they had to laugh. There was nothing else to do but sit and enjoy each other's company as much as they could. It might have been the last time that the three of them would be together, able to enjoy themselves as they were now.

The bittersweet laughter dissolved and all three turned their eyes upward, refocusing themselves on the starry map of the sky. They sat in silence for a period of time none of them could later be sure of, listening to the silence that surrounded them on all sides and watching, waiting... for nothing.

*******

_"James, don't let it be me."_

_"We need you-"_

_"No. It's... it's not a good idea. It's so obvious, he'll think of it immediately. He'll know for sure it's me. He'll kill me. And when he does, he'll extract the secret and come for you._ _I've got an idea, though: make me the decoy Secret-Keeper. Tell everyone that I'm the real Secret-Keeper, but use someone else. When You-Know... I mean, Volde... whatever, he'll come for me and torture all he wants, but I won't be able to tell him anything. I won't be under the charm, he won't be able to use the counter-spell on me when I'm dead."_

_"Sirius, don't say that! You make it sound so hopeless!"_

_"I'm sorry, Lily. I just... there's nothing else to say."_

_"If not you, then who?"_

_"What about Remus Lupin?"_

_"He... I think he's a spy."_

_"Remus? _Moony_? He wouldn't... he wouldn't do that to us!"_

_"I heard it, though. Maybe it's just a rumour. I didn't believe it at first, but... I don't even know anymore. I don't know what to believe."_

_"But if not him..."_

_"Two words: Peter Pettigrew."_

_"Peter?"_

_"Are you serious?"_

_"Just think about it for a minute. He's not very strong, not exactly known for his magic skills, is he? No one would suspect him, not a soul. Trust me, the two of you and Harry are safe."_

Sirius went over his two day-old conversation with James and Lily for what felt like the millionth time as he traipsed back and forth across the living room in his small London flat. He ignored the smoky smell trailing from the fireplace and the faint, almost inaudible sound of the radio from the next room. An overwhelming sense of impatience rushed through his blood and into his head. His legs were starting to ache from walking and standing for so long, and he finally collapsed into a cushy armchair.

_There's no reason for you to be so anxious. Voldemort won't come for Peter._

Sirius got back to his feet, then fell into the chair again, then stood up once more. He made a fist, then relaxed it. He paced on the spot in frustration, eager to get his mind off his anxiousness. His eyes darted about the room, desperate for something on which they could focus rather than allow his brain to pester him with endless worrying. He brushed his black hair out of his wide, brown eyes, allowing for an unobstructed view of...

The bookshelf. He nearly sprinted across the room to get over to it. His eyes skimmed across the shelves, searching for a title of interest. They finally came to rest on an ancient-looking, slightly beaten book with a thick spine, bound with worn red leather. A small golden ribbon was visible coming out of the spine, placed randomly within the pages of the book. Its title was printed in regal, golden letters along the spine:

_Hogwarts Yearbook: 1978_.

He stared at the book for a moment, then, letting out a small sigh, yanked it from the shelf and held it in both his hands. He flipped it open to the page with the small golden ribbon. The picture that met his eyes almost cut off his air. He read the title: _Graduating Class of 1978: Gryffindor_. About twenty students were crowded together in the black and white photograph, all grinning and waving up at Sirius. He nearly laughed as Photo-Peter tried to clamour up Photo-James and Photo-Remus in order to be seen, then finally pushed his head between their two bodies and grinned sheepishly. And there, with his arms draped around Photo-James to his left and a pretty, blushing girl whose name Sirius had long forgotten to his right, was Photo-Sirius, only seventeen years old. He looked up at the real Sirius and began to wave maniacally, occasionally throwing surreptitious glances at the girl to his right, who continued to blush a dark gray.

There they were... all his friends, exactly as they were as seventh years. Not a worry in the world. Sure, there had been Voldemort, but they hadn't been afraid of him. They hadn't been afraid of anything. The fearless Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs.

Now they were afraid of everything. Everything and everyone. Even each other.

He continued to watch the picture for a few more moments. _God dammit. There's no reason to be so afraid._

He slammed the book shut, thrust it back into the shelf, and, grabbing his cloak, flew out the door.

*******

"Peter? Peter, are you home?" Sirius shouted at the door of Peter Pettigrew's tiny house. There was no response from inside and no light shining out of the windows, despite the darkness from outside. Sirius pounded on the door with his fist, still to no avail.

"Screw this," he muttered in frustration, pulling out his wand and pointing it at the door. "_Alohomora_!" The doorknob quickly twisted itself in response to Sirius' command and the door sprang open, all too easily. Sirius stared at the door for a moment, wondering why it had succumbed so easily to his spell, a slight sense of alarm growing inside him. He cautiously stepped into the house, barely noticing Peter's missing cloak and shoes. The lights in the corridor and all the rooms were off. "Peter? Peter! This isn't a joke!" He shouted again into the noiseless house. "Bastard," he muttered under his breath. "Wormtail, this isn't bloody funny!"

He stepped into the first of only three rooms in the house, the living room. It was unusually clean for someone like Peter to have maintained; the pillows were neatly arranged on the couch, which looked surprisingly unused. Pictures of Peter's family, his mother, his friends, and a Hogwarts diploma were displayed above the mantel of the fireplace. Sirius stepped towards it, unsure of where else to go. He placed his hand on the mantelpiece, squinting questioningly at the fireplace itself.

Suddenly, he froze. As his hand touched the mantel, a chill suddenly flowed through his veins. His eyes widened... _something happened here_. He glanced at his feet; black ashes were scattered all around the floor, with slight depressions made in the pile closest to the fireplace, as if someone had stepped in them. Sirius looked, with growing horror, along the length of the carpet and noticed light, ashy footprints every few feet.

The most overwhelming and horrible realization hit him like a freight train.

Voldemort hadn't come for Peter. Peter had gone to Voldemort.

Just as quickly as he had entered, Sirius left.

*******

_Faster._

_FASTER._

Sirius urged his motorcycle onwards, pleading with it to fly faster through the sky en route to Godric's Hollow.

_Before Peter can..._

_Before Voldemort..._

He couldn't even bring himself to think the words. Aggravated with his own weak will, he swiped at his eyes.

There. The first lights of Godric's Hollow. The Potters' house would be just beyond the hill...

At least, it would have been. If it had still been standing.

Sirius, horrified, nearly fell off his motorcycle at the sight of it. He regained his tight grip on the cycle's handles and turned it downwards, its wheels skimming the tall grass as it sped down the hill. He had barely reached its foot when he gave up; the motorcycle's wheels touched the ground and it rapidly decelerated, stumbling and sputtering before toppling onto its side. Sirius leapt off it and half-stumbled, half-ran the rest of the hill's length to the ruins of the Potters' house.

He stared at it, numb to his core. The house had been utterly devastated; not a single foundation was left standing. It was almost as if the house had collapsed on itself. Boards and bricks had been hurled about the property as if a bomb had set off. Pieces of white wood and paint chips lay everywhere and a fine layer of dust and ash had settled over everything.

The motorcycle had magically turned itself off behind him, but Sirius took no notice. He couldn't hear a single sound, couldn't see a single thing except the ruins of the house before him. He took one cautious step into the planks, followed by another, and stopped, staring at the destruction beneath his feet.

The seconds were bitter cold and passed like hours, like he was floating in a sea of ice. _James...?_

"James?" Sirius had meant to shout it, cry it out, scream it, but it had come out in a meek, disbelieving whisper. "James?" He repeated, intending it to be louder, but it had only come out quieter. His eyes desperately searched the ruins for some sort of sign of his friend, but when it met his eyes, he felt his stomach contract as if to vomit.

A hand, limply grasping a thin, broken wand, was lying on a plank of wood. The arm on which it was presumably attached was buried beneath the white rubble. Sirius stumbled towards it and, falling to his knees, furiously dug the rubble away. A white-sleeved arm, then a shoulder... Sirius continued to dig frantically and when he finished, he collapsed forward onto his hands, breathing deeply and blinking the disbelief out of his eyes.

James' body was lying, chest down, in the rubble. He showed no signs of consciousness. His head was twisted as if he was looking up at his outstretched hand. His pale cheek bore a deep cut and small spots of blood dotted his dirty white shirt. His eyes were, mercifully, closed. White dust covered his black hair, now matted with sweat against his scalp and caked with blood.

Sirius stared at the body, his mouth hanging slightly open. The frantic numbness that had been growing in the pit of his stomach suddenly exploded and consumed his entire body. He moved a trembling hand, two fingers loosely extended, towards James' throat and searched for a pulse. There was none.

"James..." he started quietly, gently nudging his best friend's limp body. "James, wake up... look what they did to your house... James..."

James did not move.

"JAMES!!" Sirius screamed. "Wake up, you bastard!!" Breathing hard, he glared in horror at the unmoving body before him. "James!! James..." his desperate cries soon dissolved into chest-convulsing sobs and he bit his lip, unable to stop his tears from flowing. His hair fell over his eyes, covering them from the world, but he didn't care. He lifted one hand off the rubble to cover his eyes, and it soon became drenched with tears as a frightening and unfamiliar despair took control of his body.

He wasn't sure how long he had been kneeling there, crying thoughtlessly into his hand, but all he knew was, when he finally opened his eyes, James had still not moved. He watched the lifeless body for another moment, then got to his feet and, wiping his eyes in frustration, continued stepping through the ruins.

A flash of dark red. Lily.

Sirius was too numb with horror, shock, confusion, he barely batted an eyelash as he trudged his way over to her. He dug through the rubble once more to uncover her body. She was lying crouched in a fetal position, her hair strewn everywhere and her eyes closed, covering something wrapped in a blanket. Sirius touched her face gently, a new feeling of painful loss swelling inside him, and moved his fingers down to her throat. No pulse. She was dead, too.

One more... one more to find...

He suddenly spotted the bundle of blankets half-covered by Lily's arm. He gently moved her arm aside and lifted the bundle into his arms... he'd found the last one.

He pushed aside some of the blankets and uncovered the face of a baby, no more than ten months old. The baby's black hair was matted against its head and its eyes were shut, just like the eyes of its parents. There was an etched line of red on its forehead in a jagged shape, a few spots of dried blood trailing from the tiny scar.

Sirius hopelessly pressed his fingers against the baby's neck and felt an almost insignificant thumping against them. His own heart began to beat rapidly and he frantically fished his wand out of his pocket. With a trembling hand, he held the wand's tip close to the baby's eyes. "_Enervate_," he whispered in a shaking voice. The baby's eyes wavered open uncertainly and after a mere second, it began to whimper quietly.

_Jesus..._

Sirius hugged the baby close to his chest and closed his eyes. "It's over," he whispered to whimpering child, "everything. All of it. It's over."

He continued to hold the baby, afraid to let go, afraid to look away and have the sight of his friends' dead bodies meet his eyes again, afraid to acknowledge what it was that had truly ended. 

   [1]: http://www.cair-paravel.nu/turbonium
   [2]: mailto:cherry@time-stranger.net



	2. The End of the Road Part I

Beautiful Day

**Beautiful Day**  
By [Margot][1] - [cherry@time-stranger.net][2]

**A/N:** Chapter two, off without a hitch. Okay, maybe one hitch: Hagrid's accent. It's messed up, I know. Don't blame me, I wrestled with it for several hours and finally consulted the books, only to find that his accent keeps changing. Thanks tons to my beta readers Nicole (my skepticism about how anyone could possibly like Snape THAT much shall live eternal ^^) and Alex, who will always be my beta reader *sings*. Also to the reviewers: Aira, Black Goddess (keep reading and you'll find out ^~), ~Skydancer, ZunPad (thank you ^^), Hazel Oculare, Pleiades (thanks ^^), and Orange Girl. THANK YOU ALL

*

Chapter Two - The End of the Road Part I

*

_"It is possible to provide security against other ills, but as far as death is concerned, we live in a city without walls."_

**

He was unsure of how long he had been kneeling with the child cradled in his arms, only that the seconds had stretched themselves into days and the days into eternity. If only those precious seconds could go backwards instead of forwards. If only he had gone directly to the Potters' instead of wasting precious time at Peter's. If only he had realized what a fool he had been, if only he had kept his promise.

If only.

He shifted the baby's position in his arms so that its head overlooked his shoulder and held it close to his own heart, his eyes clamped tightly shut. How he wished for his tears to flow, but they would not. There were none left.

A sudden sound of cracking wood came from behind him and his eyes flew open. With surprising dexterity, he shifted the baby into one arm and pulled out his wand with the other, then whipped around and aimed it directly at the stranger.

"What do you want?" Sirius tried to shout but failed miserably, instead only rasping the demand. The figure in the shadows was enormous, and Sirius realized, when the figure came into the light, that it was only Hagrid.

"Sirius," Hagrid said softly, two enormous tears sliding down his cheeks and into his great black beard, "James an' Lily... I can't believe it, I jus' can't."

Sirius looked up remorsefully at Hagrid but felt no inclination towards comforting him. He had nothing to say.

_He doesn't understand. He could never understand._

"Is that Harry?" Hagrid asked, noticing the bundle in Sirius' arms. Sirius nodded mutely and shrunk back a little, feeling a sudden need to protect both the child and himself. Hagrid did not notice as he began to step towards them.

"Poor kid, can't be more 'an ten months old an' 'is parents are gone... can I hold 'im?"

Sirius glanced down at the child, who had fallen asleep in his arms, and clutched him tighter. He looked back up to Hagrid, an expression of absolute fear on his face.

"Please?" Hagrid repeated, moving closer to Sirius and holding out his enormous hands. Meekly, Sirius placed Harry in them. Hagrid pulled the boy close to his chest, mumbling quietly.

"Poor Harry, di'nt even have a chance to know 'is parents."

Sirius got to his feet and dusted his hands on his cloak, feeling a sense of awkwardness mix with everything else. His hands left behind dull streaks of white dust that contrasted sharply with the blackness of his cloak. He barely noticed them.

"Poor kid," Hagrid repeated for the third time. Then, with an uncharacterized sense of importance, "I've got ter take 'im ter Dumbledore."

Finally, Sirius awoke. "No," he rasped.

"Dumbledore's orders."

"_No_," Sirius repeated. His words lacked the force that he wanted, but they were louder, stronger than the first time.

"Dumbledore's orders," Hagrid repeated, as if the repetition emphasized the point in Sirius' mind any more, "'e's got ter live with 'is aunt an' uncle."

"_No_." Finally, the vehemence that Sirius had begged for came out full-force. He had regained his composure, if only for the moment. "NO."

Hagrid looked sympathetic but resolute. "Sirius-"

There was a sound of pleading in Sirius' request that he couldn't remember having ever used. "I'll take him. I'm his godfather. Let me take him."

"Sorry, but it's not fer me ter decide. 'e's got ter live with his Muggle aunt in Little Whinging in Surrey, Dumbledore says. It's fer the best, you know 'at's true."

Sirius couldn't reply. His arms fell limply to his sides and swung there like heavy clubs. Never had he experienced such an immense feeling of loss, of despondency; everything was slipping away. His eyes fell and he looked away from Hagrid and Harry, to...

_To..._

His whole body trembled. He pleaded it to stop but it paid him no heed. His arms began to shake and he immediately flung them around himself, his cloak no longer protecting him from the cold.

With a single stride, Hagrid crossed over to him. "Sirius... I'm sorry." Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius saw Hagrid move his free arm towards his face, then put it back to his side. "Don't worry, when we find the bastard who ratted 'em out to You-Know-Who, we'll..."

Sirius quivered involuntarily.

"We'll make sure 'e gets what's comin' to 'im. But fer now I've got to take li'l Harry to 'is aunt's house. Dumbledore'll be waitin' there fer me."

Sirius didn't respond as Hagrid turned his back to him.

"Dammit, 'ow am I goin' ter get there?" he wondered aloud. Sirius turned. A strange expression had curtained his face, the only evidence of the sudden transformation that had occurred inside him.

_We'll make sure he gets what's coming to him._

"Take my motorbike," he said quietly. Hagrid turned again to face him. "Take it. Do whatever you want with it. I don't care."

"Really? Yeh're sure?" Hagrid's face lit up as he clearly took no notice of the bitterness and rage in Sirius' voice.

"Yeah. I don't want it. Don't need it. You take it."

"Thanks!" Hagrid exclaimed. In only a few strides, he moved towards the fallen motorcycle and lifted it onto its wheels with a single sweeping motion, carefully cradling Harry in his arm. He swung one leg over it.

"It'll take you a while to get there," Sirius called miserably. Hagrid simply gave him a brief wave and, with a quick rev of the motorcycle, went roaring into the air and zoomed out of sight.

Sirius' eyes lingered on it until it finally disappeared. They drooped miserably, desperate for sleep and relief. He moved a finger up to touch the skin just below them. It felt puffy, inflamed. As he expected. Inside, however, he was not crying out for sleep or relief.

But for revenge.

He threw one last, quick look at his fallen friends, afraid of what would happen if his glance had lingered any longer. Besides, it was not how he wanted to remember them.

Not like this.

The top of the golden sun had already started to peek over the horizon, spreading shades of blue, purple, and red across the sky, forcing them to bleed into the soft white clouds. Sirius glared at it bitterly.

_When would they ever get to see a sunrise again?_

_Never._

His hands balled into tights fists.

_Make sure he gets what's coming to him._

He walked away from the Potters' house, a bottle of mixed emotions of the worst kind, up the hill and down the empty streets of Godric's Hollow.

*******

London.

With a quiet pop, Sirius appeared in Diagon Alley. He barely acknowledged his surroundings, ignoring the signs perched above the shop doors that swung mockingly at him in the cool breeze. Few people were down the Alley at seven in the morning and even fewer paid him any attention.

Never mind, it didn't matter. His mind was set; no distraction would prevent him from what he had come here to do.

_Peter will be here._

With a quick swing of his arm, he pushed open the back door to the Leaky Cauldron. It was dark, dank, and nearly empty except for Tom behind the counter and a tired-looking goblin in the corner. Neither one paid any attention to Sirius. He crossed the small pub in ten paces and lifted his arm to push open the Cauldron's front door, but quickly stopped himself as the door swung open by itself.

"Peter. Knew I'd find you."

An expression of absolute terror fell across Peter's face, but his eyes sparkled with a murderous glint. "S-Sirius! I-"

"Shut up!!" Sirius shouted, exploding with rage. He could feel the eyes of the Cauldron's one patron on his back but he ignored it. He lifted his arm again and pushed Peter out of the pub and onto the sunny London street, considerably busier than Diagon Alley.

Sirius opened his mouth to condemn Peter, but the rat beat him to it. "_Sirius_!!" He shrieked loudly, ensuring the attention of all within hearing range. "How could you?! James and Lily, our best friends!! How could you!" To his old friend's ears, his familiar painful shriek sounded contrived and imaginary.

Sirius' eyes widened as he quickly caught on.

_A set up, this was all a set up..._

"You bastard," his voice quieted. "I'll kill you."

"A spy for _You-Know-Who_?! Sirius Black, how could you?! The Potters made you their Secret-Keeper and you betrayed them!" Peter raised his voice, ensuring that any passing wizards would immediately pay attention and take note. Several people stopped and a number of small cries could be heard. Sirius' eyes widened frantically.

_This can't be happening._

"Shut up, you rat!!" Sirius shouted, partly from rage, partly in an effort to get Peter to keep his voice down. "It's you, it's always been you!"

Peter gave another loud shriek.

"I'll kill you. I'll kill you!!" Sirius immediately yanked his wand out of his dirty cloak, but again, Peter beat him to it. In a fraction of a second, the entire area was engulfed in thick gray smoke. Sirius could see nothing... until Peter's face loomed into view once again. The expression of terror was gone from his face, replaced by a smug grin.

"Close, Padfoot, but not close enough."

"Fuck you," Sirius spat, half choked by the smoke. He lunged for Peter, his hands locking around Peter's neck and quickly tightening. Peter, however, didn't look uncomfortable. In a split second, his wand arm pointed at the ground beneath him and a sick grin on his face, he whispered, "_Mora Oblittero_." He dissolved from Sirius' grasp as he changed into his Animagus form and scampered away. Sirius barely had time to flinch before an explosion knocked him off his feet. Instinctively, he covered his face with his arms. He could hear distant-sounding screams but blocked them out.

_This can't be happening._

The dust cleared and still Sirius lay crouched on the ground, his arms shielding his face. He could still hear screams and loud voices surrounding him, but he paid them no attention. He buried his face in his arms and dissolved away, away from the piercing stares of the crowd and the fact that was inevitably on its way.

_This can't be happening..._

He felt something nudge his back. He ignored it.

"Sirius Black, get on your feet."

He ignored it.

The same thing nudged his back again, harder. He slowly moved his face away from his arms and pushed himself to his feet, only to find himself staring blankly into the eyes of a dark blue-cloaked man with large yellow letters reading "HIT" across his chest and back. His eyes held Sirius' unflinchingly and his black hair was tucked messily beneath a blue cap, allowing his pale skin to appear even whiter. He looked angry indeed.

"It's all over," Sirius whispered quietly. The man seemed slightly surprised by Sirius' words but appeared to quickly shake it as he pointed his wands directly at Sirius' hands and bound them with handcuffs.

"Sirius Black, you are under arrest for the murder of-"

Sirius stood in his place but allowed his eyes to wander. Bodies lay everywhere, several having already been wrapped in black bags. Dark, crimson pools of blood stained the asphalt underneath them and slowly trickled their way towards the nearest drains. Hit wizards were catching frantic Muggles and shouts of "_Obliviate!_" could be heard from all directions. At the same time, a horrified crowd had gathered nearby, watching Sirius and the hit wizard in horror. Despite all the activity, there was a strange, lingering stillness in the air that filled Sirius with a sense of calmness and complacency.

_No point in fighting now, they're already got you._

He became conscious of everything around him except his own body, as if he were playing a part in a tragic play- understanding his situation but still knowing it was somehow unreal.

"Come on, then," the hit wizard said impatiently, "got to get you to the courthouse."

"What?" Sirius asked quietly, suddenly coming back to his own body.

The hit wizard narrowed his eyes. "You're responsible for the deaths of these people as well as being an alleged Death Eater. You've got to be tried, or don't you know how the legal system works?"

_It's real._

"Is this a joke?"

"You wish," the hit wizard growled. As an afterthought, he added, his voice narrowing bitterly, "Let's just hope they put you away for a good long time, you fuck."

Sirius starred at the hit wizard. He looked about twenty-two or twenty-three, couldn't possibly be older than Sirius himself... and still his face was covered in wrinkles.

_The things he must have seen..._

Finally, it dawned on him. The things he'd seen were all around them... and he thought it was Sirius' fault.

_Sirius Black? Responsible for these deaths?_

"That's hilarious," Sirius muttered.

"It's bloody well not."

Sirius chuckled quietly in disbelief, not knowing how else to react. _They think _I_ did this. That this is _my_ fault._ He begin to laugh louder.

"Is this a _joke_ to you?" the hit wizard shouted angrily, stepping back from Sirius as though insanity was contagious.

"No," Sirius spluttered between fits of raucous laughter. Despite his handcuffs, he clutched at the newly-formed stitch in his side.

_I murdered these people. I'm going to jail._

Several more hit wizards hauled Sirius away.

*******

The room was lit only by the sparsely-placed torches along the walls. Everything was brown: the walls, the torches, the seats in the gallery, the bench. Shadows danced in all directions in tune with the wavering of the torchlight. The silence from the gallery began to pound in Sirius' ears.

"Sirius Black, approach the bench."

Sirius stood up from his single uncomfortable chair and stepped towards Bartemius Crouch, perched behind a protective wooden desk. It rose above everything else in the room; when Sirius approached it, he found his eyes met just below the top of it. Crouch looked down at him, an expression on his face as though he was watching someone vomit.

"This court finds you guilty of the murder of James and Lily Potter, Peter Pettigrew, and twelve as yet unidentified Muggles. You are hereby sentenced to a lifetime in Azkaban. Anything to say for yourself?"

Sirius' eyes bulged in their sockets. "Don't I get a fair trial?"

The room suddenly filled with hushed whispers from the gallery. "No," Crouch announced loudly over the other voices, "there are over a dozen witnesses- order! - over a dozen witnesses, it would be - _order!_ - would be a waste of our time - ORDER!!" He was now shouting and banging his gavel against the bench, frantically trying to get all present to stop talking. They lowered their voices but adamantly refused to stop altogether. Sirius hadn't had a chance to see who was present. He was unsure if he wanted to know who was watching.

"More importantly, we are in a state of martial law." Crouch muttered something under his breath that sounded distinctly like, _"Not that you deserve a proper trial anyway."_

"Return to your seat," he announced, gratified at the return of the silence. Sirius took two steps backwards and fell into his chair, slouching forward like a rebellious teenager, although there were nothing he felt less like.

"Bailiff," Crouch resumed, indicating that the gruff-looking wizard to his left should approach the bench. "You may take the..." he coughed lightly, "the 'prisoner' away."

The bailiff stepped towards Sirius and beckoned to him like a master towards a dirty slave, but Sirius refused to move. Instead, he wrapped as much of his arms as he could around the arms of his chair and glared defiantly up at Crouch's bench. "No."

Crouch stared at Sirius, looking utterly scandalized. "_Excuse_ me?" Again, voices rose from the gallery, but this time, Crouch made no attempt to silence them.

"I'm not going to Azkaban."

Crouch raised his voice slightly, temper flaring. "Mr. Black, I will not-"

"_I didn't do it!!_" Sirius shouted, leaping to his feet. His cheeks flushed with a furious red and his fists trembled through their cuffs. The voices in the gallery continued to rise.

"Sir, either you go willingly to Azkaban or you will be taken there by force!!"

A tense silence fell over Crouch and Sirius so thick that it could have been cut with a rusty blade. The people in the gallery refused to keep their voices hushed any longer. Finally, Sirius tore his eyes from Crouch and looked towards the gallery.

There were dozens of darkly robed people seated on the benches, all turning to each other and whispering or talking loudly, occasionally throwing furtive glances at Sirius. Only two people were not exchanging theories and judgments.

Albus Dumbledore. There, perched in the middle of the back row, he sat watching Sirius with no expression on his tired, wrinkled face. His white beard glistened slightly in the torchlight but otherwise he showed no signs of movement.

And Remus Lupin. Sirius caught his heart in his throat. Remus was seated near the front and off to the far left, slightly separated from the others. His dirty blond hair fell exhaustedly around his face as it usually did at this time of the month and his cheeks were dark and sunken, a sharp contrast to his pale skin. The bags under his eyes were lined with darkness as if someone had drawn on them with charcoal. His eyes, however, were what truly made Sirius choke.

Until that point, Sirius thought that being able to see emotions through another's eyes was something only found in irritating romance novels. Remus' eyes, however, proved otherwise. He sat with his arms crossed, an otherwise blank expression on his face, but his eyes flashed a million things. Betrayal, distrust, anger, hate... complete and total disgust.

Sirius' legs nearly buckled. Impact was finally beginning to settle on him. He'd lost everything. _Everything_.

He stared directly at Remus, desperately hoping that his old friend would be able to see the fear and regret in his face, but Remus didn't even flinch. He continued to hold Sirius' own gaze, the same horrible emotions flashing in his eyes... betrayal, distrust, anger, hate, disgust.

The bailiff grabbed a newly-subdued Sirius' shoulder firmly and steered him out of the court, all eyes on them. And still, his own eyes lingered on Remus, the emotions still flashing in his old friend's eyes.

Betrayal. Distrust. Anger. Hate. Disgust. 

   [1]: http://www.cair-paravel.nu/turbonium
   [2]: mailto:cherry@time-stranger.net



	3. A Sinking Feeling

Beautiful Day chap. 3

**Beautiful Day**  
By [Margot][1] - [cherry@time-stranger.net][2]

**A/N:** Sirius makes it to Azkaban, only to find that his previous ideas about the wizard prison are very different from how it actually is. The cryptic messages of Aidan Dubois only raise more questions in his already exhausted mind- who is this mysterious man and what effect is he having on the other prisoners? There's a bit of inspiration in here from _The Shawshank Redemption_. It's a bit how I picture Azkaban, at least for the time being. Thanks again to Nicole the Beta Reader, and also to the reviewers: Private Show Girl, Lhoth, inyron (I know it was said that Harry was already a year, but I decided to make him ten months, therefore, the story right now is taking place in May of 1981. Good eye though ^~), Zeptron Zulu, Pleiades (again ^^), Ts, Lin-z (I thought it would end up getting much more violent, but it doesn't seem to moving that way), and Lily's Angel.

*

Chapter Three - A Sinking Feeling

*

_"Insanity - a perfectly rational adjustment to an insane world."_

**

"Here's your cell, Black."

The Azkaban guard finally stopped in front of a thin door made of silver floor-to-ceiling bars. He jammed one key after another into the magical lock. With each key, his hand trembled more and more.

"Let's hurry this along, this place gives me the willies," he muttered to himself, shoving the final key into the lock. The cell door sprang open with a loud metal clang, the first sound Sirius had heard since entering the enormous prison, aside from the random mutterings of the guard and the quiet crackling of sporadically-placed torches along the walls.

"Home sweet home for the rest of your life," the guard announced, showing Sirius into the cell. The cell was essentially a great tin box, the ceiling just high enough to escape scraping the top of Sirius' head. At one end was a tiny sliver of a barred window no larger than a breadbox. Hanging underneath it was a small cot, suspended by silver chains and covered with a thin white sheet. At the opposite side was the cell door, wide enough to allow the average man to slip through when open and surrounded on either side by more dismally dark wall.

Sirius stepped into the cell and stopped when he got to the centre of it, examining his new surroundings. He didn't flinch when the door behind him slammed shut; he simply continued to stand still and stare at his cell in disbelief.

"One meal a day's all they're gonna give you," the guard said from the other side of the bars, "and you can get some water from that sink in the corner. There's a toilet over there, too, if you didn't notice that yet." The sound of shoes tapping against the ground, indicating that the guard was walking away, registered vaguely in Sirius' mind. He noticed a sink and a small toilet in the left corner of the cell, just as the guard had told him they would be there. And still, he continued to look around the empty cell, wondering when he was going to wake up.

*******

Time had passed. Just how much, Sirius couldn't be sure. Probably three or four hours at the most- the sun had only just begun to set; he had seen it in the light cast through the tiny window above his bed a few moments ago. He was lying sideways on the tiny bunk as he had been for the past few hours, periodically shifting between closing his eyes to shut out the light of judgment and opening them to desperately search the cell for anything of interest he might have missed the first few times. It was like waiting for something... an all too common theme in his life.

His eyes were closed. But not for long.

The ominous feeling that had been hovering over Sirius suddenly collapsed and fell on him, causing his eyes to jerk open. Otherwise staying completely still, he allowed his eyes to dart frantically about the cell. It felt like something was approaching, something silent and shapeless, that would soon descend upon him...

A sudden shriek echoed at the other end of the corridor. An odd chattering noise followed it. Sirius didn't realize that it was his own teeth. The shrieking continued, growing in volume and desperation, and was soon joined by the voice of another, then another; deep, desperate screams that chilled his soul.

Sirius stared out the cell door, a knot of apprehension and terror churning in his stomach. The screams continued to grow as more and more voices were added to the din. Outside of his cell, the light dimmed as if the torches had gone into hiding. Sirius' hands tightly gripped the thin sheet below him. He could feel his fingernails press into his palms through the thin blanket.

A mass of cloaked forms drifted by Sirius' cell while he stared out in fear. The mass was moving slowly, clearly in no rush to leave the corridor.

_Dementors._

There must have been twenty or thirty in that mass alone, all drifting silently down the hall, oblivious of the horrified screams following them. One Dementor stopped outside Sirius' cell. It turned towards him and peered into his cell, ignoring the departure of its companions. Black air floated gently on the spot where its feet should have been. It was otherwise motionless. Sirius stared at it, unable to move or react. It was as if there was a drain in his feet, slowly sucking all the hope, the last slivers of happiness that he had.

Frightened beyond his wits, Sirius pushed himself off the bed and crawled quickly towards the furthest corner of the cell, where he wedged himself between the wall and the toilet. He hugged his knees to his chest and buried his face in his cloak, mentally pleading with the Dementor to leave him alone. He was filled to the brim with a debilitating sense of loneliness; he could think of nothing but how lonely he felt, how alone he was, how completely empty his cell was, how much he had lost.

Sirius didn't know if the Dementor had left or not, but it didn't seem to matter. He could still hear tortured screaming through the corridor, only louder and closer. He soon realized that the closeness of the sound was because it was coming from his own throat. Tears seeped through the fabric pressed to his face and began to dampen the bare skin underneath his cloak. His screams pierced his ears until he couldn't even hear himself anymore, and still he kept screaming as complete and utter despair filled his entire being. He screamed and screamed until the blackness of the cloak pressed against his eyes consumed him and he knew nothing else.

*******

It was already daylight. Sirius blinked hard, then shut his eyes again and dug his face into his arms. A few moments later, he unfolded his legs and crawled towards the small food bowl in the corner.

"I'd save those bits for later if I was you. I mean, I'm not you, but it's just good advice."

Sirius stopped crawling and turned towards his cell door. Looking out between the bars, he could see into the cell opposite his. A man was sitting there, looking back at him. He was thin and pale, with sunken, dirty cheeks and greasy blond hair. His exposed arms were thin and bony. It struck Sirius how similar he looked to Remus on the days before the full moon, if, on top of his exhaustion and fever, Remus had been starved for several months. As miserable as his appearance was, however, his expression betrayed it all; starving and weak as he seemed, he still appeared quite serene. He was looking directly at Sirius.

"'Cause you know, that bread and gruel's all you're going to get until tomorrow morning, so if I was you I'd eat a bit now and eat some later. So then instead of being not so hungry now and starving later, you're only somewhat hungry for the whole day. That's what I do. It'll help you last longer. That's what everyone down this corridor does."

Sirius simply stared at the man in the opposite cell, weary and more exhausted than he'd ever been. The man simply smiled and nodded.

"You made it through your first night. I heard you yesterday during the Dementor visit. Sorry about that," he said earnestly, as if it had been his fault, "they don't come down this hallway often. We're all the way in the back, see, so they only make trips down here once, maybe twice a week. Too bad they had to come down here on your first day. What's your name?" The man said all this very quickly and matter-of-factly, as if discussing the weather.

"Black," Sirius said flatly. He wasn't in the mood to elaborate.

"_Black_? There's an odd name. Never known anyone with one name before. Although I guess I shouldn't talk about strange names, mine's Aidan Dubois. Weird, isn't it? But my dad was French, and my mum named me, and she was Irish, so I guess that explains it. I was raised in London so I've got the normal accent. What are you in for?"

Sirius felt depleted. He wasn't in the mood to talk, especially to someone who was so nonchalant about being in prison. "Don't want to talk about it."

Aidan nodded. "Well, I understand that. It's only your second day. You need a couple of days is all. S'all right."

Without a glance back, Sirius crawled onwards to the food bowl. He quickly finished the stale bread, but kept the gruel for later.

*******

The next four days passed without incident. Indeed, they passed without stimulation of any sort. Sirius spent the days alone, shifting between periods of sleep and wake. Voices from outside his cell registered vaguely in his mind but he could hear nothing, nothing at all. _Why fight when you're bound to go mad after year one anyway? Better to surrender now and get it over with. Forget this pain. Leave this world._

Those four days were possibly the worst of his life until that point. The indescribable loneliness and isolation, so thick you could almost punch it. The hunger- desperately wishing for a bit of butter whenever you swallowed down the stale bread and a pinch of salt whenever you drank the gruel. And the guilt.

The knowledge that James and Lily were dead... _dead_. One moment they had been living, breathing, and the next, they had ceased to exist. He'd turned the idea over in his mind countless times- dead. Death. The end of living. The end of _being_. The knowledge that it was his fault. All this... this loneliness, this hunger, this knowledge... he'd brought it on himself. He'd done this to himself.

That was the worst.

He couldn't escape from any of it, couldn't do anything to soothe himself or ease his mind. The emotions were always with him; through sleep and wake, they were his only company.

That was pretty bad, too.

But all things must come to an end, even days. And they did end. On the fifth morning, the seventh day of his sentence, he crawled towards the food bowl like on all other mornings.

"Hey, Black. Glad to see you're still alive and all that. How're you holding up?" The familiar voice of Aidan Dubois trailed into Sirius' cell and he stopped, grateful for the sound of another human being's voice. Sirius crawled towards the cell door and looked into Aidan's cell.

"Mmmm," he grunted quietly.

"Good. Feel like talking at all? S'always nice to have friends in here, you know. Helps you last longer. Myself, I've been in here 'bout a year. I think." Aidan smiled.

"A year?" Sirius spoke his first intelligible words since coming to Azkaban.

"Surprising, eh? Everyone on the outside thinks people in here go crazy after a few months. Not so. Well, sometimes so. It all depends, really. I mean, where they put you, what kind of person you are. Takes a strong mind to last." Aidan tapped his forehead. "If you've got a strong mind, you'll last a long time no matter where you are. One bloke lasted for damn near twenty years down here. What'd you say your name was again?"

"Black. Sirius Black."

"_Sirius_? _Black_?" Aidan asked incredulously.

"Yeah. Why?"

Aidan shrugged and started along a different vein.

"So, what are you in for? You're doing life, right?"

"Yeah."

Aidan smiled in spite of the grim response. "Thought so. Everyone who gets put away back here in this corridor is doing life or a really long sentence, usually. What'd you do?"

Sirius leaned against the cell door bars and took a deep breath.

"I was accused of murdering my best friend and his wife. Selling them to You-Know-Who."

Aidan's back straightened. "James and Lily Potter, right? Yeah, right! White - he's in that cell down there - got an issue of the Daily Prophet in here few days ago and we read all about it. D'you really kill all those Muggles?"

Sirius scowled bitterly. "I did _not_. I was framed."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He turned his head away slightly, no longer facing Aidan. "Backstabbing fuck."

"Eh?"

"I was framed by someone... I thought was a friend." He shrugged, feigning offhandedness. "I suppose not. So much for friends," he muttered.

"What makes you say that?"

Sirius paused a moment. He was sitting in the most horrible place a wizard could be, about to spill his feelings to someone he'd known for what seemed like mere seconds. His stomach quivered slightly. Why? Why was he so willing to tell his secrets to a stranger?

Because he needed someone, anyone to tell them to. Because it was nice to have friends. They help you last longer.

He sighed again. "One friend died on me. Another stabbed me in the back. And another hates me." He tried to laugh but it only came out as a shrill, bitter sound. "Some friends, eh?"

Aidan became stern. "Now Black, don't go saying those things. Friends're important. They keep you alive. Can't live without friends. At least, not in here. Let me tell you, Black, you can't give up on friends because you will be an empty man and you will never do anything and you will never go anywhere."

The unintended irony of Aidan's statement wasn't lost on Sirius. He already was an empty man.

"It was said, 'We call that person who has lost his father an orphan, and a widower that man who has lost his wife. But that man who has known the immense unhappiness of losing a friend, by what name do we call him? Here every language is silent and holds its peace in impotence'." Aidan nodded somberly, the only evidence of his pride glinting in his eyes. Then, he faltered, forcing the wall of eloquence and wisdom he had erected around himself to crumble. "Er, forget who said that. Joe Something. Not important, what's important is the message, don't you see? The man who has lost his friends, it's terrible, it's so terrible it's unspeakable. That's how terrible."

"Thanks for reminding me," Sirius bit.

"But there's the thing," Aidan continued, "you've got to pick yourself up and move on. Don't ever forget your friends but don't dwell on them either. Or the terrible memory will take over you and you will be hollow, the bad memory will be the only thing left in you."

"Look," Sirius interrupted with biting impatience, "can we, you know, _not_ talk about it? It's nice that you're giving me advice and everything, but save it until you've lived it, all right?"

Aidan barely skipped a beat. "Sure, all right-"

A voice from down the hall sounded loudly. "You, Black, you telling Dubois to shut his mouth? Don't do it, boy, t'aint smart. You listen to what he says, Dubois's the smart one 'round here and you'd do well to listen. He's helped th'rest of us before, we's lucky he's got life, eh? Just 'cuz he ain't lived it don't mean he don't know 'bout it. He's real wise, that Aidan Dubois. Smartest of any of us."

Voices of agreement could be heard from a number of the other cells. Sirius craned his neck to look down the hall, then looked back up at Aidan. Aidan simply shrugged and smiled modestly.

"They like what I've got to say."

Sirius simply stared for a moment, then finally found his voice again. "How do you know? What to say, I mean."

Aidan smiled another secretive smile. "Books. Lots and lots of books. I used to read a lot. Taught me lots of things, only no one'd ever listen to me. The way I speak, it's crude, it's common. No one listened to me on th'outside. My common way of speaking kept them from hearing what I've actually got to say. Don't want the gift if it's not wrapped up in a pretty package, see? That and I tend to blabber. Just means I've got a lot to say, I suppose, although it really depends who I'm talking to, doesn't it? Never spoke a word to my teachers back in school. But the people in here, I've got lots to say to. And they listen to me. S'pose it's the only nice thing about being in here. And the people I've met aren't so bad neither."

Shouts echoed down the hall in agreement. Sirius shuddered. He knew they had meant to be in cheerful agreement, but they had sounded like a song from a choir of skeletons. He surveyed Aidan carefully. Aidan had a light expression on his face. His skin was stretched across his cheeks like it would on the skull of a rotting corpse, but for what it was worth, he seemed perfectly content.

"What are you in for?"

"Hmm? Me? They say I was a Death Eater and killed a bunch of wizards and Muggles on various occasions."

"Is it... is it true?"

Aidan grinned and nearly laughed out loud. "'Course not. Don't you know, Black, everyone in here's innocent."

Sirius stared.

"Hey, Radford," Aidan shouted, turning his head to face down the hall.

"Yeah, Aidan," the replying shout came back, a deep, thick male voice. It rang with a thick African accent.

"What're you in for?"

Sirius could hear a few quiet laughs and chuckles from some of the closer cells. When Radford spoke again, Sirius could almost hear the smile in his voice.

"Didn't do it."

"Y'see, Black? Everyone in here's innocent."

Sirius continued to stare and examine Aidan's expression. Aidan's comment didn't tally well with Sirius's past beliefs about Azkaban but no evidence of lying or joking was evident on his face. He simply wore a pleasant smile. Sirius felt another question spring forward in his mind.

"When you said that people in the back don't go mad as fast as the others... did you mean it?"

Aidan nodded placidly, a smile still spread across his face. "On my life." There was a long pause. "Wondering if you're going to make it in here?"

Sirius was silent.

Aidan tapped his chin and turned away. "Never know who's going to make it in here."

Absolute silence echoed down the hall and into Sirius' cell.

"You just never know." 

   [1]: http://www.cair-paravel.nu/turbonium
   [2]: mailto:cherry@time-stranger.net



	4. The Visitors

Beautiful Day

**Beautiful Day**  
By [Margot][1] - [cherry@time-stranger.net][2]

**A/N:** The word of the day is TIME, as it continues to pass in Azkaban. Sirius learns that there is more than one kind of prison and comes face to face with the son of the man who sent him to jail, and discovers something a little short of a profound understanding between them. Apparently, a lot of people misinterpreted my comment about getting inspiration from Shawshank. What I meant was, I was trying for the same sort of mood from the movie's beginning: depressing, hopeless, in case my use of adjectives and description is that poor (which it probably is), so you have something to relate it to ^^' I got a bit of scene inspiration in chapter three but that's where it ended. No Shawshank in here. Anyhoo, the irony and all-around corniness (:P) of the Black-White thing isn't lost on me. White was mentioned in chapter three and I wasn't about to go and change it, just to confuse people and make it less corny. I needed a last name! Lemme alone! \ Thanks again to Nicole the Beta Reader, and to Star, ~*Tryst*~, RavenLady, Miss Kitty, stardust31685, Pleiades (again ^^), Anna, Gwendolyn Grace, Katia, Kate_AnguaPotter, Nagh, and mrs. padfoot. I really appreciate it ^^

*

Chapter Four - The Visitors

*

_"Time is the fire in which we burn."_

**

Time continued to pass in Azkaban.

As a month came and went, Sirius became more confused. So many different emotions he was truly experiencing for the first time... anger, sadness, hopelessness. Of course, he'd known them before, but never had he been forced to dwell on them with little distraction as he did now. He knew that, on the Outside, at least he would have his friends to ease his pain. But no, in here, everyone was feeling the same thing as him and little they could say or do could help him. His random thoughts were always muddy and cloudy and quickly forgotten - only one observation really stood out at all:

_So many emotions, so little time._

He knew that a month had passed because he'd been using the moon as a gauge of time. He had quite a bit of experience memorizing the various phases of the moon from his Hogwarts days and the years after. He remembered the night the full moon had first made its appearance; the light of it had danced across the floor of cell while he had sat on his bed, knees hugged to his chest, wondering what his old friend Remus Lupin was doing.

Of course, he knew.

_Remus is a werewolf now._

It hadn't been a realization. Sirius had known that Remus was a werewolf since they were twelve years old. Perhaps, in actuality, it was simply the emphasis of a fact he had always known.

When they had all been together, a pack of wild animals under the moon, Remus had been himself, only in the body of a wolf.

But now they were a pack divided. Now, when Remus transformed, he became a real werewolf. He had no one to keep an eye on him, no one to keep him in check, no one to make sure that he remembered what he truly was inside.

Time continued to pass.

Before coming to Azkaban, Sirius had heard stories of Dementors. He had heard that one would be stripped of all happy memories around a Dementor, leaving one to rot in his own despair. It hadn't been like that, not for Sirius. He still had all the memories he'd every had - indeed, as the long days passed with little to do, many forgotten ones had returned - but he found that he remembered happy thoughts with little of the joy he once did. When he remembered those exciting, joyous, purely happy moments, it had been with an odd sense of detachment, as though he had never really experienced them, as though he was simply reading them out of a book or listening to them on the radio, as though he was looking at them and thinking, "Oh, yes, those sure were happy times."

He couldn't decide whether this had to do more with the Dementor visits or the fact that the people with whom he shared these memories were either dead or considered him dead. It was probably a combination of both.

"They don't come back here often," Aidan had reminded him, "because they like it better near the front. That's where the wizards with short terms to serve are. The new ones are like fresh meat. They come in here with happiness and hope, so the Dementors like to hover around them and suck it dry. But back here, we've all been rotting away for a long time and they figure, we don't have happiness and hope, so they don't bother with us. It's like choosing between two tables piled with food: one of 'em's got cakes and sandwiches and pudding and all the things people like to eat, and the other table's got the same thing, only the cakes're turning hard and the sandwiches are moldy. Can't blame 'em, I'd be the same if I was a Dementor. That's where all the rumours on the Outside start, though. The people who have short sentences get put there at the front where the Dementors visit every day, and when they're free, they're hopeless and sad and they go off and tell their friends what it was like in here. We're in here till we die so we don't get to talk to Outsiders, unless we're like White is, and we've got someone to come an' visit us. I'm not gonna complain though, if it means they'll leave us be."

As time ebbed on, Sirius found himself conversing often with nearby prisoners. Reluctant as he was to call anyone his friend, he developed a sort of kinship with White, Radford, and of course Aidan, more so than the others. Alban White, he found, had been a wealthy and well-respected Gringotts manager. He and his daughter had owned a small collection of ancient and rare spellbooks which, as old spellbooks usually did, had a variety of Dark spells written within their pages. During a raid, the books had been found and Alban was arrested. His sentence, he told Sirius, was so long because his arrest had been during the peak of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's activities. His wife had since divorced and abandoned him. His daughter visited him once every week or so, always bringing with her an edition of the Daily Prophet and some unenchanted playing cards to keep him sane. She hadn't visited in a while, White explained, as she was getting married, but the other prisoners knew her. She was a lovely thing, Aidan had remarked.

"Lovely and pretty. She sometimes visits with the rest of us. Very nice girl, but always so sad."

Jacob Radford had fled to London from Addis Ababa, hoping to escape accusations that he had murdered his older brother. He had failed and was apprehended soon after his arrival. Of course, he never had visitors and his life on the Outside had been humble at best.

The prisoners, however, had acted strangely when Sirius himself was questioned about his past.

"What about you," Radford had once asked, "what about your family?"

"Quiet, Radford," White had barked back before Sirius could answer, "don't, er, badger the boy."

A short pause from Radford had followed while Aidan held Sirius's gaze. "Right. Sorry. Never mind. Hey, White," he quickly recovered, "let's see the old Prophet again, eh?"

Sirius's physical condition continued to deteriorate. It had been a depressing discovery when, about two or three weeks after his initial arrival, he had reached his right arm over to his left shoulder to flick a bug away, only to find how tragically thin his formerly muscular arms were. He had swung his elbow back and forth, but it had only brought more misery upon him when he had realized that it was true - this arm really did belong to him. He had lifted up his shirt to examine his stomach: he was still lean and thin, but no longer in an attractive way. The outline of his ribs were showing through his skin. The sight had almost made him cry.

So, time continued to pass.

"The Dementors visited yesterday," Sirius stated flatly, as if it was something that could have possibly been missed.

"Right. So?"

"So, their visits... are different from the first one."

"Mmmm."

"The first time... it was this constant screaming, this horrible _screaming_." Sirius cupped his hands to his ears, remembering. "But then," he continued, quickly moving his hands away in slight embarassment, "during the other visits, there were no screams. Just..." he shuddered.

"S'like that for me, too," Aidan explained in his typical sees-all-hears-all fashion. "I can only guess why, though. Dementors have different effects on a person in here. Instead of your old, bad memories coming back, it's all the old, bad memories of this place, this prison. That's what gets to you." His eyes glazed over slightly and he quickly shook himself. "But after the first time, it doesn't happen again. Not sure why... just this place, I suppose. Its way of welcoming you. This place, I don't think even the smartest wizards could figure it out. The next few times, it's just loneliness and despair... hopelessness..." His eyes glazed over again and this time he did not come back.

*******

A faint tapping noise could be heard from the far end of the corridor. It was slowly growing louder in volume as it neared Sirius's cell. His back straightened as he struggled to place the noise. Like footsteps, only...

When was the last time he'd heard footsteps from the corridor? Dementors never made a sound.

"Charlotte!" White shouted from the next cell. The source of the footsteps finally passed Sirius and he caught his breath in his throat. A frail, almost waif-like woman, no older than twenty and covered from chest to foot in ghostly white robes stepped by. The robes' sleeves ended several centimetres above her wrists, revealing thin, almost deathly pale hands and fingers. Her neck was long and slender, and her face - what Sirius saw of it as she quickly passed - was quite pale as well, with high cheek bones and fine red lips. Her long, pencil-straight brown hair flitted back as she skirted down the hall. Sirius could hear her stop just outside White's cell.

"Daddy," she said quietly. Sirius could hear shouts of greeting from the other cells. "I brought you the new Prophet, but it's not good news. They're predicting a storm tomorrow, I do hope the charm will be able to keep it off."

_What charm?_, Sirius wondered, but the thought quickly passed as Charlotte continued.

"Then that Peter Pettigrew, you know the one, he was awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class. They've stopped rounding up Death Eaters for the time."

"Never mind that, Charlotte," White's voice came again, "tell us about the wedding."

"It was... so lovely," Charlotte's voice trailed, and Sirius instantly knew that she didn't believe her own words. "Bernard's family and Mother did a wonderful job, they were all so happy. Everything went according to plan. Bernard looked smashing, he was so pleased. He didn't go with a Muggle tuxedo, like I wanted, because you know that those just look better than those silly men's wedding robes from Gladrags, but he wanted those. Mother agreed and I relented. She cried during the ceremony. It was... just. Lovely."

Sirius could hear distinct traces of frustration and sympathy in White's voice. "It sounds wonderful," he replied, but clearly he didn't think it sounded wonderful at all. "How has married life been getting on?"

"It's... oh, well, it's what I expected at least. Bernard handles everything, of course. He won't let me do any of it, except cleaning and cooking, and you know I'm rubbish at cooking. I've been pestering him about allowing me a day job in Diagon Alley, maybe at Flourish and Blotts so I could get a bit of a discount on books, just to keep busy, but he won't hear of it. Says it's not my job to make the money, I'm really just there to continue the line, so I should just act like a nice wife should and leave it at that."

Sirius looked into Aidan's cell and could see him rubbing his forehead with his hands, eyes closed.

"Charlotte-"

"It's all right though," Charlotte's voice filled with a false cheer, "it really is. I don't mind. Mother says Bernard is really the right man for me and it's not as though I'm in position to argue. In any case, I don't want to talk about it anymore. How have things been in here, where's Aidan?"

Aidan lifted his head. "Over here, Charlotte."

Charlotte once again moved into Sirius's view, only with her back to him. Her hair, he noticed, was very fine, a dark chestnut brown that hung just below her shoulder blades. Her white robes were simple, tied at the waist with a thick black cord. She was wearing no jewelry that Sirius could see, save for a simple gold band on the ring finger of her left hand.

"Aidan, how are you?"

Aidan got to his feet. "Been getting on. We've missed your visits around here."

"I wanted to visit, you know that... but Mother wanted me to help her with wedding arrangements. Of course," and now Sirius could hear unmistakeable bitterness, "in the end, I did nothing. Bernard didn't even want me to come today. There was a row, but in the end I won."

"That's good to hear. Can I introduce you to someone?"

"Oh... yes, of course."

"In the cell behind you. Sirius Black, this is Charlotte... Hafgan now? Charlotte Hafgan. Charlotte, that's Sirius."

Sirius got to his feet and suddenly became aware of his filthy and unhealthy appearance. The pale skin on his arms was streaked with dirt, with faint white lines here and there where he tried to scrape it off. His fingernails were filled with dirt and he could feel his greasy, unkempt hair fall limply from his head to dangle just below his ears. It didn't seem to matter to Charlotte; she turned with a small "Hello" and appeared to be avoiding his gaze altogether. Sirius guessed that this had little to do with the fact that he was the accused murderer of the man she had previously mentioned and more to do with what he saw in her appearance.

Getting a better look at Charlotte, Sirius stopped feeling so bad about his own looks; Charlotte was clean and trim, however, there was a large black bruise on her jaw and dark gray circles were etched under her eyes. She looked extremely tired and very unhappy.

"It's, ah... a pleasure," Sirius nodded back. Charlotte gave him a faint smile, then turned back for her father's cell.

Sirius slowly sank to the floor again but crawled closer to the cell bars as he saw Aidan beckon. "That poor girl's been abused by her boyfriend since she met him three years ago, but what can she do? Her father can't defend her and she doesn't know how to defend herself. Poor thing's weak, her mother barely notices her. She's got a strong mind, though. God forbid she lands herself in Azkaban, she'd last a long time. She comes here to see her dad, that, but also to comfort herself. 'The true way to soften one's troubles is to solace those of others.' Forget who said that. Madame Mignon, something. That's not the point. There's all sorts of prisons, you see?" He spoke quietly, just out of Charlotte's earshot. Sirius simply nodded in return. He wasn't particularly interested in pursuing the subject; he had his own problems to worry about, without having to concern himself over the status of strangers. Even thinking this way, however, he still couldn't shake her bruised and melancholic face from his mind.

Time continued to pass.

*******

Sirius wrestled himself awake. He'd been dreaming... in his dream, he'd been on the Outside, standing on a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. In the distance, he'd seen two ships: one with a black mast and one with a white mast. He'd wanted to board the white ship but somehow, it was simply stationary on the horizon... only the black ship neared him. He'd shouted and screamed at the white ship to come close, but it kept bobbing above the waves, never nearing him...

The details of the dream quickly evaporated as the sounds of reality flooded Sirius's ears.

_What time is it?_

He looked up towards the tiny window- still pitch black out.

_What the hell..._

He looked out of his cell and could see Aidan stirring slightly. He could hear, down the corridor, footsteps... but it was not one person, it sounded like eight or nine. There were sounds of scraping- someone's trainers scraping against the dirty floor. Someone struggling. Also, a voice- someone screaming and pleading, sobbing.

By now, Aidan had tumbled out of his small cot and stumbled over to the cell door. He gave Sirius a curious look, then turned back to the door and craned his neck to try and see out of it.

The footsteps were coming closer. Sirius sat on the edge of his cot, staring out... finally, the source of the footsteps passed.

Four people, their hands in cuffs, filed by, each flanked by a guard. Some looked proud; others, frightened but determined. All stood straight-backed and face-forward, putting up no resistance. Confused, Sirius continued to stare out to the corridor. The sight that met his eyes, however, was one which he could never have expected.

_Barty Crouch?_

Barty Crouch, the boy who'd been only two years under Sirius at Hogwarts, who'd achieved a record-setting number of O.W.Ls, always the last to leave the Common Room at night and the first to enter it in the morning. Barty Crouch, never seen without a dozen books slung across his back. Barty Crouch, to whom Professor McGonagall always referred; "Barty Crouch is only a fifth year and _he_ can transfigure a lamb into a lion faster than any of you can!" Barty Crouch, the son of the very man who sent Sirius to prison.

The boy was pale, whiter than even Charlotte. His strawberry blond hair looked to be falling out in some areas, although whether this was from stress or physically pulling it out was hard to know. His brown eyes were the size of quarters, round and shining with fright. Two guards struggled to haul him down the corridor, each trying to hold his arms to his body and steer him. He was, at least, putting up the good fight; he flailed and twisted his arms, attempting to elbow or otherwise injure the guards and flopping from side to side, trying to slow them down. Tear streaks shined on his face and he screamed, over and over, "Let me go!! I'm _innocent_!"

Sirius stared quietly at the boy as the guards struggled past with him, his knees hugged to his chest..

_Stop struggling, you idiot..._

Barty suddenly flung out an arm and wrapped five long fingers around one of the bars in Sirius's cell door. They curled around the black bar and began to turn white with the effort. He yanked the rest of his body towards the bars and threw his other arm around them, wailing and sobbing. The guards tried to wrestle his arms away, but apparently the boy was much stronger than he looked, as he proved to be more than a worthy opponent against them.

Without realizing it, Sirius clutched his knees closer.

Finally, Barty looked, truly _looked_, into the cell and saw Sirius, crouched and small on the tiny cot. If even possible, his eyes widened more as he stared at Sirius, still clutching the bars while the guards tried to pull him away. Shining tears continued to slide down his cheeks but he became silent, staring at the prisoner with an unreadable expression. Sirius stared back, wondering what could possibly be so captivating about him... then, he knew.

_Dirt._

He was covered in it. He could feel it on his arms, his cheeks, all over his body. He knew how horribly dirty he was, how skinny and pale, knew that his visible ankles were only as wide as a couple of fingers' width. Knew what Barty Crouch was thinking...

_That is me, that will be me._

Sirius knew, almost as though a jolt had run through his body, that Barty Crouch had given up the fight. In a few seconds, his fingers loosened around the bars and the guards yanked him away, his penetrating stare lingering on Sirius until long after he'd been dragged out of sight.

The corridor echoed with a horrible, drumming silence. Sirius continued to stare at the spot where Barty had been, into Aidan's cell. Aidan looked back at him, a confused expression on his face, but Sirius couldn't even see it.

He could see nothing.

He dreamed again that night.

He was sitting on the cot in his cell, legs pulled towards his chest, and staring at his knees. He could feel, as the time passed, that years and years were drifting by. His hair grew longer and longer and his body got weaker and weaker, his skin got paler and his stomach got emptier. Lines spread across his face like tiny, shivery spider threads and still he sat, as he got older and weaker. Finally, he could feel his heart stop. And he awoke.

Time continued to pass. 

   [1]: http://www.cair-paravel.nu/turbonium
   [2]: mailto:cherry@time-stranger.net



End file.
